


Speak and I will listen

by Areiton



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Away Missions, Bones is a grumpy bastard, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kisses, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Past Spock/Nyota Uhura, Spirk if you squint, except with Uhura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Helistens, even when he’s bitching and yelling, grumbling low and constant as he cares for the idiots on this stupid ship.And Uhura--she talks.





	Speak and I will listen

They are on a ship of idiots. He thinks about it, sometimes. Most often when they're being shot at or Jim is almost dying, or the times he is dragged with them on an away mission.

So more often than he cares to consider.

He used to think that Spock was an ally, the logical and steady temperance of the Vulcan a calm balance to Jim’s impulsiveness.

Then he realized he managed to land on a ship with the only emotional Vulcan in existence, the one who takes a twisted sort of pleasure in arguing with Leonard and chasing their batshit crazy captain into the abyss.

So no, he was alone. A lone adult on a ship full of children thrust too soon into their positions, struggling to figure out what the hell they were doing, so intertwined and codependent he was genuinely worried about what might happen if-- _when--_ they lost someone.

He understood why they were so close. He heard others talking about it--when they got shore leave, and the bridge crew wandered away from the _Enterprise_ in groups of twos and threes, when they clustered in Starfleet Headquarters, lingering in their dress uniforms and each other’s presence, while other crews mingled and greeted old friends and peers.

They didn’t have friends--they were the survivors of a class dead at Nero’s hands. They didn’t have peers, were treated as pariahs by the other older, more experienced crews, were watched with reverent awe by the younger.

Leonard hid his smile behind his drink when that happened because those poor saps had no idea that the crew they idolized, the one that Starfleet loved to parade in front of the press vids--they were a bunch of kids hoping they knew what the fuck they were doing.

And he couldn’t even say he wasn’t one of them.

He knew he was--that of them all, he led the parade of idiots. He followed Jim into the black because he had no idea how to let the kid go get himself killed without Len there to bring him back.

And he never regretted it, not even when they were running from enraged natives on planets they had no business on, when he was bleeding and battered, even when he was fighting with Spock and Kirk was watching with those big blue eyes and a kind of amused smile.

No, he might want to strangle them--every last idiot on the damn ship--but he didn’t regret it.

Except--the longer he spent on the _Enterprise_ the more he realized--he wasn't the only adult on a ship full of idiots.

 

~

 

It didn’t take much for him to admit that when it came to Nyota Uhura, things were very simple: he was scared of her.

Everyone talked about Spock, with his heavy brows and the tight line of his mouth, the way he stalked the halls of the ship like a predatory creature.

But Spock was the obvious threat, the easy to see coming fury that was just as easy to rile up or avoid altogether, dependent on his mood.

Uhura.

Uhura was fire and bright laughter, a sharp tongue and soft smile, and a sense of humor so sly and wicked Len wasn’t sure he actually was supposed to laugh at her jokes until he saw her eyes grinning from behind her wine glass.

She was the only person on this godforsaken ship with a lick of sense in her head, and he was too damn scared to even think about talking to her.

 

~

 

The thing is that Leonard listens. It’s part of his job. He listens to the list of everything that goes wrong, and he puts it right. He listens to what isn’t said, what is carefully talked around, and he fixes that too. He listens to the empty silences, the ones that leave him shaken and turning to a bottle after, because some things can’t be fixed.

He _listens_ , even when he’s bitching and yelling, grumbling low and constant as he cares for the idiots on this fucking ship.

And Uhura--she talks.

It’s her job--the crisp voice over the ship's chanel, piping into his surgery for updates on Spock, breaking into his office to summon him for the captain. She’s the voice that informs the crew of new orders, calls them to battle stations from a dead sleep, the one that monitors their endless drills and exercises.

She speaks and he listens.

He doesn’t know exactly when he realizes that he listens too well.

 

~

 

“Long day, Doctor?”

Something in her tone drags  his head up, and for once he isn’t tongue tied or hesitant--his eyes narrow just a little as he takes her in.

She’s flawless, as always. But there’s something slightly bruised in the way she holds herself, in the dimness of her eyes. In the inflection of her tone.

“The longest,” he says.

She bumps his shoulder. “Thanks for taking the Captain off our hands for a few days,” she teases, and he grimaces.

“Happy to do my part,” he says dryly.

Her laugh is too tight to be real, and his worry spikes a little. He waits until the ‘lift stops and she steps off, turning away toward her quarters, and he touches her elbow, gently. “You did good today.”

She shakes her head. “I could have done better,” she says, simply and he hears the words she doesn’t say. _I put them in danger. I didn’t_ know _enough, and I put them in danger._

“You did better than anyone else on this tin can could hope to do,” Leonard snaps back, and his tone leaves no room for argument, even as her eyes flash in warning.

“Get some rest and have a glass of whiskey,” he says gruffly.

He gets two steps away before she says, sassily, lighter than before, “That your medical advice?”

He doesn’t bother turning around--she’ll be just fine. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

 

~

 

_You never_ listen _, Len._

That was what Joss screamed, and what she whispered, and what she said, finally, dry eyed and flat in the lawyer’s office.

_You never hear anything I say._

He wanted to argue, wanted to promise he’d listen now, if she’d just talk, but she didn’t. She had no interest in it, by the time they got that far, had found someone better, someone who could listen and he couldn’t even hate her for that.

_I didn’t need to be fixed. I just wanted to be heard._

He spent his whole career listening, but the time it mattered most, he fucked it up.

 

~

 

“Doctor.”

He pauses.

Turns back, because Jim is waiting for him on the other side of the mess hall, but there’s something wrong in her tone, something he can hear that she’s fighting to hide. He takes a half step closer to her, letting concern pull him into her personal space just a little--not too much that it would be intrusive, that she couldn’t retreat.

“You ok, darling?” he asks, letting his tone drop so it’s heard only by her.

Her eyes are wide and startled, and she smiles, reflexive. “I’m fine,” she says.

The catch is there. Just a tiny one, at the tail end of her words.

“Uhura,” he says, soft, “you don’t always have to be ok. You’re allowed to be human.”

Her eyes go a little bitter, which is better than crying, he thinks.

He’s not sure he knows what to do with a universe where Nyota Uhura cries.

“No, I’m not,” she says.

He waits, patient, and she opens her mouth. And two things happen--Spock enters the mess hall, stiff and impersonal, his gaze chilling as he sees them, and Jim calls his name.

“ _Bones!”_

He’s going to kill Jim. He’s thought about it before, sure, but he’s going to actually do it this time. Uhura steps back, her eyes shuttered, and her tone is crisp and even when she says, “Thank you, Doctor. I’m fine. And I believe the captain wants your attention.”

She turns to go and he says, still soft, “Chocolate, Uhura. I promise it helps.”

“More than the whiskey?” she asks, her eyes teasing.

He nods. “Yes.”

She smiles then, bright and sad before she moves to join Chekov and Sulu.

Jim is watching him with naked curiosity when he sits down, “What did Uhura want?”

“Nothing,” McCoy answers, patient as he stirs his salad.

Jim stares at him, like he’s waiting for something and McCoy huffs a little. “She sounded sad, kid. It’s my job to look after the crew--I’m doing my job.”

“What’s wrong with Uhura?” Jim demands.

“She may be experiencing some adverse emotions from the cessation of our romantic relationship.” Spock says, sitting next to Jim.

For a second, McCoy is caught on the disgusting looking soup and then he catches up--

“You broke up with her?” he hisses, and Spock pauses, tilting his head and giving McCoy that deeply disdainful glare that makes McCoy want to stab him with a hypo. And stun him for good measure.

“I believe that is what I said,” Spock says stiffly.

He doesn’t say anything--just finishes his meal, and makes his excuses before he vanishes.

Uhura looks startled when she answers the door, her hair in a thick braid down her back. She’s wearing an oversized tshirt that looks like something she stole from Spock, and sleep shorts and her feet are bare, making her seem unbearably tiny.

He gives her a quick smile and extends a bar of rich dark chocolate he’d been saving for one of Jim’s bad days.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, simply and her eyes soften a little.

“If you want an ear, I’m around, Uhura,” he says, taking a step back and she nods, something like a smile turning up the edges of her lips.

“Thanks, Leonard,” she says and he turns to go.

And he savors the sweet lilt of her voice as he goes.

 

~

 

He used to listen to smiles. Listen for them when he was in his grandparents house. The thing about smiles is you can hear them, if you know what you’re hearing. The sweet softness of a tone, the hint of laughter and happiness. He learned to look for it, when he heard it in his grandfather’s voice, in his grandmother’s.

He learned to not miss it in his father’s.

There is nothing quite like the smile he hears in Jim’s voice, and the way it never matches the smile on his face.

He forgets, the last time he heard Joss smile.

 

~

 

“ _Qu'vatlh_.”

The softly snarled Klingon curse echoes in the almost painful silence of the bridge and Len turned, slightly, eyebrows raising at her.

No one else reacts. Even Spock, sitting prim and proper in the center seat doesn't censure her language. Len isn't sure if it's because of the situation playing out onscreen or if it's because Spock is a little bit scared of Uhura.

Probably both. Not that he could blame the Vulcan.

“They’re jamming me, sir,” Uhura bites off, and Spock nods briefly.

The away mission had been a tricky one to begin with, which was why Kirk was alone down there, with only Sulu and a security team to cover his back.

Because when it went to shit--and no one, not even Kirk was under the delusion that this wouldn’t go sideways--it couldn’t put them all at risk. Spock had bitched and Leonard had shouted, and the rest of the bridge crew had sat in tense silence, waiting, until Kirk finally dragged out his captain’s voice and gave his orders.

And now they were all here, waiting impatiently.

“Got ‘em!” Uhura says, triumphant, and then her voice goes tight, and she spits a string of Klingon that Leonard doesn’t follow, but that-- _finally--_ gets a response from Spock, a half raised eyebrow.

Leonard drifts from his spot at left of the center seat, until he’s behind Uhura, and allows himself to touch her shoulder, just a solid reassuring clap that startles her gaze to his for a moment, before she gives him a half smile, and some of the tension drains out of her.

He stays there, slipping between Spock and Uhura, for the next three hours, while she relays and translates what is happening between Kirk and the warlords.

Sitting down with the leaders of three warring planets who could only agree on how much they distrusted the federation, with nothing but a smile and four security personnel wasn’t the worst thing Kirk had done as Captain but it was certainly up there in the top five.

“There,” Uhura says suddenly. “That right there is our leverage.”

Spock twists--they all turn--to face her and she’s smiling, her shoulders tense and tight and her voice is sharp, cutting, as she nods. “We use the medical and dwindling food stores to secure the Mietl--we already knew they need us. We give the Dedre access to the Memory Alpha vaults--with provisions.” She taps her screen, pulls up an image of the third warlord. He is glancing at the woman at his side, and something in his voice makes Uhura’s smile go savage. “She’s dying, Spock. We help her, and we’ll have the Lyeans eating out of our hands.”

Spock’s eyebrows twitch at that, but he turns back and feeds the information to Kirk on the planet.

None of them relax, not until Kirk and the away team beam back. Uhura blinks twice, when word comes up from the transporter room and then stands, stalking from the bridge.

Leonard joins her, and she looks at him for a long moment, as if waiting.

He squeezes her elbow when he steps off to go greet Kirk, and murmurs softly, “You did good, sweetheart.”

 

~

 

He could never tell when Joss was stressed. She was a private person, something he knew from the beginning, something he _liked_ from the first time she gave him a shy smile and turned back to her PADD, dismissive without being rude.

He worked for her, for her smiles and the bits of her life that she was willing to share, the kisses she offered up.

But she never let him see her crying, or tired, or stressed.

She never let him see her human. And then, they were married and he was elbows deep in the dead and dying, working long hours during his residency and longer hours building his private practice and if she allowed him to see anything then, he wasn’t looking anymore.

Maybe that was where they fell apart. At the beginning and at the end.

 

~

 

She smiling, and Len can’t help but offer one in return as he steps onto the lift.

“Evenin’, Uhura.”

“Doctor,” she says, wiping the smirk from her face but not from her voice and he gives her a raised eyebrow.

“Now I know we’re all excited to get through a shift without Jim tearin’ his shirt or starting an intergalactic incident, but you seem in a mighty fine mood.”

She tilts her head, studying him curiously and then shrugs a little. Lets the grin shine through. “One of my papers is being published. I’ve been invited to speak about it at a xenolinguistics conference next month.”

“Uhura,” Len says, startled even though he couldn’t say why. “That’s wonderful.”

“I can’t,” she says, immediately. “It’s all the way on Rigeal VII, and I just--”

“That’s a short personal shuttle ride. If we don’t get orders that way. You should go.”

She shrugs, a funny crinkle to her nose. “My job is here. There will be other conferences.”

He breathes a little laugh, and shakes his head. “Fair. But I’m treatin’ you to a drink.”

She grins, and hooks a hand into his elbow, friendly and happy and so damn bright it almost hurt to look at her.

“I’d like that.” She says, and even her voice is shiny and bright.

 

~

 

It wasn’t only that he stopped listening.

It was that she stopped talking.

There were whole days when they didn’t speak, when they occupied space and, occasionally one would say something, about their plans or the weather or what to have for dinner.

But they didn’t _talk._

She stopped speaking.

And he stopped listening.

 

~

 

“Do you miss home?”

They’d been sitting side by side on the observation deck for almost an hour. Nearby, Jim and Spock were playing chess--foreplay, if McCoy wanted to get technical about it and since it was _Jim and Spock_ , he didn’t, thanks. Uhura had been reading for a while, occasionally looking over at the chess game with a fond smile.

She and Spock had managed, somehow, to remain friends, and McCoy doesn’t know how he feels about that, but he does know she’s staring at the star streaked black and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard that note in her voice before.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Didn’t leave a lot behind to miss, though.”

She gives him a quick searching look, a question in her pretty dark eyes. He shrugs a little. “My parents are gone--all I had was my wife, and--” he shakes his head and finishes his drink. “She didn’t leave anything to miss.”

Something sad and understanding fills her gaze and she touches his hand, softly. There’s a noise, slightly choked, behind him, and Uhura aims a dirty glare over her shoulder.

McCoy, being a smart man who knows better than to intrude when a woman looks like _that_ , studies his PADD like it might hold the keys to the universe.

“I miss the wind,” she says, settling back into her seat. She’s drawn her legs up under her and her head is leaning against the arm of the chair, close enough to Len that he could touch her, if he wants.

He _wants._

“I used to go down to the beach, when I had a little time off, and listen to the waves. It sounded so different--not quite like the grass on the plains, back home. And not like the sandstorms, in the Sahara. But, close. This white noise that was trying to say something, if I could just learn to listen. Space is so _noisy_.” She quiets and he sits there, silent at her side, and listens to the hum of the ship, searching his PADD.

Later, when she’s at her station, listening to the noise of space, he sets a small memory disk near her hand. He knows it’s not the same as the sounds she misses, and he can’t give her the wind. But when she gives him a wide smile, two days later, squeezes his hand and whispers, _thank you._

Maybe it’s close enough.

 

~

 

“What are your intentions, regarding Nyota?”

Leonard remembers a question, similar to this one, from Joss’s brothers and her sister, and the beers that preceded the question.

In retrospect, that whole night should have been a big indicator that Joss came from crazy and was bound to show her colors at some point.

Spock’s voice is tense and cold and--worried? Leonard leans back in his chair and studies the Vulcan in his office. “What makes you think I have intentions?”

Spock does that thing, where he frowns without moving a muscle. “She--you--I observed her touching your hand.”

Leonard blinks. “Does that have some special cultural significance I’m unaware of?”

Spock doesn’t quite _fidget_ but it is a damn near thing. Len’s eyes narrow. “Wait a minute. You touch Jim’s hand all the damn time.”

Spock straightens. “We are not discussing the Captain, Doctor.”

“Maybe we should.”

They stare for a long moment and then, “You will not hurt her.”

“If you hurt Jim I’ll break every bone in your body and leave you that way.” Len answers, evenly.

Spock nods stiffly and stalks out.

 

~

 

“Hey, Bones,” Jim said, cheerfully, blue eyes cold.

Uhura kicked her feet up on the chair across from him, and her voice was syrup sweet and razor sharp. “Leonard.”

He was a man and a doctor and he might never be able to understand women, but he knew _that_ tone well enough. He retreated and when Spock joined him, looking a little pale and sickly, neither of them spoke or watched Jim and Uhura gossiping quietly in a corner.

Near the end of the meal, McCoy glanced over, drawn by her laughing, her eyes flashing with a dirty kind of glee and said, low and mournful, “How bad is this, you think?”

Spock watched, a sick fascination in his eyes. “Unclear, Doctor.”

 

~

 

Joss hated his friends.

Not that he had many, he was too _busy_ to have many, but the ones he did have.

The few he kept from college and growing up--they drifted away as he dated and married her, driven by the sharp edge of her words and he heard them when they said she was no good for him, that he was changing, that they missed him.

He _heard_ but he didn’t always listen.

Except when Joss laughed and said they were jealous and he should forget them and drew him down with a kiss and for a while, he did.

Until he woke up, alone and silence echoing around him and he wondered if he had been listening to the right people, when he bothered to listen at all.

 

~

 

She hasn't said _anything_ since they brought her in, and he hasn't either, aside from the orders he snarls at Chapel, and cursing. She gasps, once, when he set her broken wrist, her hand free hand coming up to grip his wrist, slippery with blood but tight enough to make him pause.

He fucking _hates_ space.

“Gonna give you something for the pain, now. And put you under for a little while. By the time you wake up, you'll be good as new, ok, sweetheart?”

Her big eyes are wide and scared and what the fuck universe does he live in that Nyota Uhura could ever look so small or scared. He leans down and brushes a kiss over her forehead as Chapel injects the hypo and she makes a noise, a pained whine, that sounds like his name, as she slides into unconsciousness.

It wasn't a bad wound, really. A blade that laid open her shoulder and sliced across her belly, it wasn't anything he couldn't fix. But his hands shake as he works and he can hear Jim shouting and Spock, his voice even and still panicked, demanding information,  and he ignores them both, ignores everything but the steady beep of her monitor and the quiet whisper of her breath.

 

~

 

There was a moment, when he thought they could fix things. A delicate moment, when she had smiled, shy and tremulous, and he had kissed her hair and promised they'd talk when he came home.

There was a moment, and sometimes, he wished he could go back to then, could go back to share it with her.

By the time he came home, two twelve hour shifts later, it was over, gone, snatched away before they could make something happen, make something _better._

It was always going to be too late for them, he thinks.

 

~

 

He's sitting at her bedside when she wakes up, and the first thing she breathes is his name, a soft whisper of noise that tugs him from his twisting thoughts and to the moment.

To her.

There's something soft in her voice, sweet and it makes him hope.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” he murmurs and she catches his fingers in her hand, squeezing tight.

He smiles at her and starts talking, a slow ramble about the fallout of the mission, about Jim and Spock and how the brass is riding them, about Chekov crying in his medbay when he saw her in a biobed.

He rambles until she falls asleep, and she listens.

 

~

 

She is discharged a few days later and he misses her--it's quiet and dimmer in the medbay with her gone.

She sees him in the turbolift, and she watches him silently until it stops and she walks out on the bridge with a tiny smile.

He wonders what it means and tries not to listen to the silence.

 

~

 

They're sitting with Jim and Spock, and McCoy is listening as they spark, watching the smile on Jim’s lips, the sparkle in Spock’s eyes. He hears the warmth in Jim’s tone and thinks that they might be a ship full of idiots, but at least they're happy.

Uhura smiles behind her wine when the Captain and Spock retreat.

“They're good for each other,” she says, satisfied and he nods.

“Strange but yeah. They work.”

She smiles at him and nods at the room, eyebrows titling playfully. “Who else works?”

He laughs a little and then, because he's a shameless gossip, he tells her and she listens.

 

~

 

She's curled in the corner of his couch, sipping his whiskey and reading. Her feet are bare and tucked under her and he cam see the flash of red polish when she moves.

He doesn't know when they went from nodding greetings to relaxing after a shift together.

She's quiet tonight and it soothes him, the soft silence that's easy and sweet and comforting.

When she starts to doze, he tugs her from the couch and delivers her to her quarters, and she gives him a sleepy smile and kisses his cheek, her hands braced on his shoulders as she murmurs, _goodnight._

He spends the night trying to determine what it was he heard in her voice.

 

~

 

“You know that we have vaccinations for this?” he demands and the ensign pales. Nods a little shamefaced.

Behind him, he hears a low laugh and turns to point a finger at Uhura. “Don't think I'm not upset with you too.”

He stabs the hypo against the ensign’s neck and he flinches before scurrying.

Uhura doesn't wait for an invitation. She hops on the biobed, her boots kicking girlishly and tilts her head to the side to get her hypo.

A ship _full_ of idiots.

“You know the brass will shit kittens when they find out we have a fucking chicken pox outbreak,” he snaps. “And the rest of the fleet will have a field day.”

Uhura glances at him sidelong as he presses the hypo to her neck and then rubs the injection site. “Do you really think they'll hear about it?” she asks archly, and he blinks, remembering exactly what her job is, that she's the one who feeds information from this ship full of idiots to the rest of the galaxy, that they are admired and respected and it's because she paints them in the very best light.

He doesn’t know if he’s in awe or terrified of this strange and beautiful woman.

She leans forward, and her lips brush against his cheek, the very corner of his mouth. “Don't worry, Len,” she whispers and then she hops down and saunters out, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder as she goes.

 

~

 

Joss hated being touched.

And he--he loved it. Ate it up. Sometimes, he thought it had to do with his parents, who were good people, if a little distant.

But she shied away from it, when they were in public, and only just tolerated it in private. Touch led to sex and if it didn't, she didn't understand the point of it.

Eventually, he quit trying to explain.

Jim, with his easy touches and lack of personal space and big stupid eyes hiding a razor sharp mind--that was harder. He seduced people as easy as breathing, touched Leonard constantly and never once pushed him for sex.

Leonard listened and he couldn't figure out what the kid was trying to say and it _scared_ him.

Jim laid it out-- _I need friends more than I need someone to fuck, Bones. I don't keep them and I won't lose you--_ and it was easier, then, to accept his easy affection.  

It took years, though, and far too much to drink before he returned it.

 

~

 

It's the third time, after a long shift and a short dinner. She's dead on her feet and arguing about it, that stubborn edge to her tone that brings out the very slightest edge of an accent, determined to watch a documentary on the United African States, their pre-unification history.

He deposits her on his couch and retreats to shower.

When he emerges, he’s not terribly surprised to find her sleeping, the PADD dangling from her fingertips, and he rescues it with a small smile, sets it on the table and covers her with a blanket before he retreats to his bed.

“Len,” she murmurs, her voice honey warm and soft, the kind of soft he never hears from her.

“Need anything, sweetheart?”

She shakes head and he nods. “Get some sleep.”

“I can go,” she says, half hearted and he squeezes her ankle, gentle.

“I don’t mind if you stay,” he says simply and she catches his fingers.

“Len,” she says and he doesn’t know that note.

The one that is smoky and low, sugar sweet with a hint of heat, and it drops the bottom out of his stomach when she sits up, sleep warm and pliant. “You always listen when I talk. You hear more than anyone--even Spock.”

He doesn’t have an answer and it’s not a question, so he just sits there, eyes wide and helpless, and she smiles. “What do you hear now?” she whispers, just before she kisses him, not like the friendly kisses before. It’s full and gentle, but demanding--Uhura poured into a kiss. She licks at his lips, traces them with the tip of her tongue and swallows down his moan when he opens to her, shifting her weight until she’s settled in his lap and pressed against him, her hips rocking slightly.

“Why?” he whispers against the skin of her neck, when he can think enough to ask anything.

She laughs, just a little, murmurs against his lips, “You aren’t the only one who's been listening, Len.”

Then she kisses him and it’s not firm or gentle, it’s dirty and messy and so _good_ he doesn’t say anything, for a long time, beyond _more_ and _yes_ and _Nyota_.

 

~

 

Her voice is firm and cool and professional and sweet and slow and disdainful and brittle and heavy and so many things--he listens to them all and when the ship full of idiots no longer needs them, when they are tired and lonely and happy and content--they find each other in those spaces, and when she speaks, he listens.


End file.
